Remember Me
by Angel's Anthem
Summary: He had a face once. A mouth. A nose. Even a pair of eyes. There was a time when he could roam the streets. . . as himself. There was a time when the woodlands were safe- called "home" by many. There was even a time when he let himself fall. . . fall so deeply in love that the only way to free himself was to take away her life. . .


**Remember Me**

* * *

**I**

* * *

**Mid-17th Century | France**

"I know you're out there, you evil bastard!"

The man's knees wobbled as he stumbled across the riddled path of stone toward the south-bay docks, where the sea raged with howling wind and spritzing waves. He gulped down the last bit of Swiss liquor, neglectfully allowing a few drops to leak from the sides of his mouth. He belched, slinging the glass bottle against the wooden dock. Glass shattered in all directions, but did little to phase the drunken sailor. Salty water sprayed into his eyes, and he struggled to reach the end of the wayward harbor. He was only two feet away from the waterfront before the man collapsed on all fours. His body swayed -a meager attempt to stand.

"You- you stay away from my daughter! I'll- I'll kill you! I'll see send you right back to hell! With... God as my witness! I'll do it!"

The sailor scraped the brim of his knuckles against the soggy timber; it was all he needed to remind him why he had come; to stay awake. _Just stay awake, you bloody sea dog. Stay awake,_ his mind nagged. The man, soaked from head to toe, crawled toward the edge. He tripped over his wool cape. Slurring a string of curses toward the wet clothing, he tore it from his body and tossed it into the black, roaring abyss of ocean.

As he inched closer to the end, the man's rage seethed into his clenched fists. "S-stay away from us, you filthy monster! You thief! You criminal!" he screamed through gritted teeth. "You demon!"

Eyes widening, the man tugged a bundle of strung animals -four rabbits and a fox to appease the malevolent spirit terrorizing his offspring. He tossed the rotting heap away from him. It landed with a solid smack, the victims' skin sloshing into a puddle on the dock. Shivering, the man shook his head, pointing to an unseen assailant in the wind.

"Now- now go! There's your offering!" chocked the madman, "Leave my baby alone. She- she's only seven... just a, a child..."

The frenzied storm began to calm; the beating rain subsiding into a light drizzle. The wino relaxed, lazily pulling his cap off and rubbing his befuddled, thin hair. Sighing, the man decided that it was over. He could return to his family without fear. It was finally over.

**No. **

The man gasped. The moments between whirling around on his backside and ripping out his bayonet were a skim blur. He held up his knife, the slick blade reflecting the orange moon's light in his peripheral. Though to no avail, the man tried to wipe away the rain water and drunken slobber from his beard. There was no one. Just darkness. And, wave after wave of angry seawater. Blinking away the bitter raindrops, the man pressed his free palm against the dock.

His fighting stance -if even that- was corked with flaws; shaky, pitiful, feeble. He scrambled closer to the rank heap of dead animals, but saw nothing through the flickering darkness. Wait. No. Something- something was slithering at his foot! The sailor gave a raspy yelp, kicking himself away from a black tentacle rising from beneath the surface of the water. He flung his knife toward the writhing beast, as it grew longer and longer and longer.

Screaming, the man was slowly encased between ocean and entity. His limbs were pinned against the rickety docks, coiled in onyx appendages. He strained his neck to lift his head. There was no one! There was no one to save him, or even witness this terrifying act. He coughed when a bank of water was splashed in his face. His eyes burned from the salt; his lungs heavy with alcohol residue. He wheezed, breathing in a mouthful of his own stringy beard. While in the midst of confusing chaos, the marine was suddenly relieved. Blame it on his drunken state, but he came to the docks for a reason: to seek out a resolve.

"Yes... yes! Take me! Take me instead! Don't bother my daughter! You can have me!"

The tentacles tightened their grip. He could feel the hairs on his arms rip from the flesh as they were wrenched off like velcro. He watched as another mass of tentacles plucked the soggy offering from the puddle of water. The beast that held him down seemed to examine it for a moment, turning the string of bodies to determine its value. With a deep, disembodied growl, the thick, black arm thrust the bloody mess into the ocean. An invisible mouth grazed his ear, silencing him.

**Wrong legend, **it laughed.

The man was out of time. Before he could even give one last yelp, either for help or out of pain, the mysterious entity chocked the sailor. His neck cracked and his body fell limp. Like water purging a plague, the extended tentacles split into his flesh and swallowed his blood. None was left. He was an empty, dry vessel -like a ship without her crew. Releasing their hold, the tentacles pulled the body into the ocean, allowing the waves to take him under; bestowing to him a watery grave.

Bathed in an aura of shadow, Slender emerged from the depths of the sea. His feet chafed the surface of the harbor where the man had lay. He retracted his extra arms and straightened his suit. Flashes of the man's weathered face washed through his mind. His gaping mouth with yellow teeth. His clumsy eyes. His striped clothing. Wait. His clothes. Slender peered at his own. A grim smirk hallowed the crevices on his face.

No wonder the child had been afraid of him. His attire was not suitable. He was dressed ahead of their time. Soaking in what images he had collected over the years, Slender recalled the clad of the sailor: the captain's beret, the navy slacks, the combat boots, the crimson scarf, the striped sleeve tunic, the sapphire veneer. Yes, this appearance would suffice for now. Slender rubbed the pad of his gloved hands together in contemplation. Then, it suddenly struck him.

He_ needed_ a face.

The face of the deceased sailor? No, no one deceased. A foreigner? Perhaps an Englishman's face. Or, a Duke from Spain. No, there were too many connections, loose ends to needlessly worry about. The local drunk probably has a face that neither man nor woman would peg nor miss. Sighing in frustration, Slender suddenly remembered, peering through the lurking mist that coated the surface of the ocean; the body resting at the bottom of it, buried beneath salt and sand, _was_ the town drunk. It was settled then. He would have to make himself a new one.

"Daddy?"

Slender was momentarily paralyzed. Meeting the innocent child face-to-face so soon had not been part of the plan...

* * *

**Author's Note: **So... I'd love to know what you thought of the prologue! Should I continue?


End file.
